


Slipping Through My Fingers

by idoltina



Series: Nightminds: Children of Darkness [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Siblings, Aunts & Uncles, Babies, Gen, Hospitalization, Implied Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Kangaroo Care, Magic, NICU, Parents Evil Queen | Regina Mills & Robin Hood, Protective Siblings, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:22:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his daughter is born, Robin takes up a vigil at Regina’s bedside while he waits for the others to work on an antidote. But after three days of losing both time and hope, Killian suggests a change that may bring them both a little light.</p><p>----</p><p>March 14, 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping Through My Fingers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InitialA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InitialA/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wildfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461915) by [idoltina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina). 
  * Inspired by [Wildfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461915) by [idoltina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina). 



> **Warnings:** adult language, hospitalization of both adults and infants

Robin loses time.

Or he feels as though he’s wasting it, actually, which makes him feels a bit useless, and no matter the tools Doctor Hopper has given him in the last five months, this feeling has always left Robin susceptible to darkness. But it’s not -- darkness itself isn’t the problem, really. It never has been. Light and dark are more muddled now than they ever have been before; between saviors and evil queens and dark ones and fairies, the lines have never been more blurred. And Robin, well.

Robin has always only been afraid of darkness of his own.

It creeps in around the edges, feeding the ache in his soul and causing his heart to race in rage and his hands to shake and _no_.

Robin takes a deep breath, flexes his fingers, and calls upon reality to grant him clarity. “You were born Robin of Locksley,” he murmurs, rolling his shoulders back and shifting to get as comfortable as he can in the awkward hospital chair. “You ran away from home when you were fourteen. Little John has been your best mate nearly as long. You are leader of the Merry Men. You live in Storybrooke, Maine, in the Land Without Magic. You have two sons and --”

He stops, here, swallows hard and closes his eyes as his hands shake and shake. “And a daughter,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve a daughter who can scarce breath at times, whose heart fights with every beat. You’ve a daughter with no name who is lucky to be alive.” The thought calms him a bit -- the fact that his daughter is living and breathing and _fighting_ \-- and the tremors in his hands finally start to subside.

A breath in, a breath out, more twisted reality to root him. “Marian was your first love,” he says, and it’s only then that he opens his eyes, gaze falling upon his fiance’s frame. His lip trembles at the sight of her lying there, unconscious and weakened by a foul poison and, and -- “And Regina is your forever,” he breathes, hand shaking again even as he moves it to grip one of hers.

It’s been three days since their daughter was born; three days since Robin had lost them both to the hands of fate; three days since Blue’s forceful hand and three days since Mary Margaret’s -- since _Snow’s_ interference that may very well have given them a fighting chance. It’s been three days and Robin has hardly left Regina’s side because if he leaves her, there’s no telling what might happen to her and _she’s fallen quite ill, I’ve nothing to cure her, I’ve no magic_ and _she’s been taken by the Queen’s knights, Robin, there’s nothing to be done_ and Regina is _falling, falling, falling_.

The magic -- the machine monitoring Regina’s heartbeat beeps steadily, if a bit slowly. Each sound is a reminder that Regina’s heart is the most resilient and it’s _music_ to Robin’s ears, like a metronome keeping time.

He doesn’t want to think about what will happen when time runs out.

He only knows that unless something is done, they have so very little of it left.

Robin curls his fingers more tightly around Regina’s hand and bows his head, forehead resting against their joined hands.

He closes his eyes and loses time.

He’s unaware of the day or hour when he’s gently prodded awake, only notices that the sun has slipped from the sky as he blinks blearily into awareness. There’s an awful kink in his neck and his back is stiff and he feels as though someone’s taken a brick to his face, he’s so fucking tired, but he will not waste his time sleeping if it can be put to better use. “Sorry to wake you, mate,” a voice murmurs gently, and it takes Robin a moment to place it.

“Killian,” he grumbles, not bothering to stifle his yawn. “‘s going on?” he asks, sitting up and stretching his muscles a bit as he adjusts his grip on Regina’s hand. “Is --” He cuts himself off abruptly as full consciousness settles in, the implication of his future brother-in-law’s presence suddenly crystal clear. If Killian’s _here_ , then he’s not _there_ , which means -- “Is something wrong with the baby?” Robin asks, much more alert than before.

“No,” Killian answers immediately, hand gentle but firm on Robin’s shoulder. “She’s alright, the babe. About the same as before, but as far as I’m concerned, that’s a good thing. Means the little lass is still fighting.” Robin relaxes a little but finds himself unable to smile, and Killian’s eyes shift to his sister. “No word on the antidote yet?”

Robin shakes his head and shifts his attention back to Regina as well, thumb caressing her knuckles. “No,” he sighs, “but they’re working on it. Gold’s got as many of the ingredients as he could find so far. Belle’s buried in books, the Charmings are sorting through the things in Regina’s vault, and Emma --” He tapers off, here, shifts uncomfortably in his seat and deliberately doesn’t meet Killian’s eyes.

“Emma’s buying her time,” Killian supplies for him, quiet and stoic. “I know." A beat, and then, “I suppose that’s what families do, yeah?”

Robin softens a little and looks back over at him, warmth replacing the ache in his chest. “Yes,” he agrees. “I suppose it is.”

“Then what do you say to granting one another the same?” Killian suggests. At Robin’s furrowed brow, he elaborates, “Swap places with me for a while. Spend some time in the NICU with your daughter. I’ll sit with Regina a while.”

Robin glances back over at Regina and worries his lip between his teeth. There’s a part of him that’s entertaining the suggestion. It’s the part of him that realizes that he’s hardly seen his daughter since she was born; the part of him that finds comfort in fatherhood; the part of him that longs to reassure himself that she’s okay; the part of him that knows, logically, that a change of pace and scenery might do him some good. But there’s also a part of him that finds the suggestion abhorrent. It’s the part of him that has taken up residence in this chair for the better part of three (four?) days; the part of him whose soul is tethered to the person lying in this bed; the part of him that cannot bear to think that she’s… ( _dying_ , his mind supplies, and he is a traitor unto himself); the part of him that fears, irrationally, that if he leaves this spot or this room, fate will _rip her from him_.

His hands shake.

“Hey,” Killian murmurs gently, kneeling down next to him and gripping Robin’s arm as gently as he can. “Robin, look at me.” Robin obliges, albeit immensely slowly, but Killian is patient with him, strong and steady and sure.

He’s family.

“You’re going to drive yourself mad just sitting here,” Killian insists, and he’s right, Robin knows he’s right, but still, he cannot bring himself to move. “If you sit in the NICU for a little while, you might be able to help your daughter a bit.”

It’s like a punch to the chest, that, the idea that he could be _useful_ in his ache, but fear grips his soul in an iron vice, cold and clinging. “But what if --”

“If anything changes -- if anything _happens_ \-- we’re only two hallways apart,” Killian points out. “Either of us can get to the other quickly if need be.” Robin inhales sharply, another _what if_ poised ready on his tongue, but Killian’s grip tightens on his arm before he can so much as speak. “Robin, _please_ ,” Killian requests, voice a little thick. “All I’m asking for is an hour.”

And all at once, Robin finally understands what it is that Killian’s asking of him.

Killian wants an opportunity to say goodbye to his sister.

Robin swallows down his ache and feels it settle like lead in the his gut, heavy and weighted and toxic. This isn’t -- this isn’t like Killian, not at all. Killian is the one finds ways to survive in spite of the odds stacked against him. Killian is the one who cheats death, the one who fights and falls and fights some more in order to keep those close to him alive. Killian is the one who has waxed poetic time and time again about being a fucking _survivor_ , and here he is, ready to say goodbye.

And it occurs, to Robin, then, that maybe this isn’t just an opportunity at goodbye. Killian’s spent day and night with his niece in much the same way that Robin has tethered himself to Regina here, but Killian hasn’t been sitting idle. Killian has been the one taking sound advice from doctors and nurses and Belle alike in order to help his niece. Killian has been the one cradling Robin’s daughter to his chest to help her hold on ( _They call it kangaroo care_ , Belle had explained, and if Robin hadn’t been so exhausted at the time, he might have actually laughed a little). Robin wouldn’t be surprised if Killian’s survival speeches extended to his own niece, and as _much_ as they might have to prepare themselves for the worst, he thinks that maybe Killian’s trying to do the same for his sister, now.

It’s a blatant version of a hope speech if Robin’s ever heard one, and somewhere in him, he thinks Regina would honestly be a bit exasperated with her little brother.

He’s not sure which of them would owe Mary Margaret the quarter, this time around.

“Alright,” Robin agrees, voice a hushed whisper, and it takes everything in him to agree. “An hour.” Killian murmurs his _thanks_ as he pushes himself to his feet, moving aside to give Robin room to get up, but Robin turns his attention back to his love, first, and presses his lips to her hand. “Please don’t leave quite yet,” he begs, barely able to voice the words aloud. “I promise I’ll come back to you. _Please_ ,” he whispers. A press of lips to her forehead as he breathes his devotion into her skin, and then he’s gone before he can change his mind.

He’s anxious when he arrives in the NICU, restless and fidgeting as the nurses walk him through what Killian’s been doing. He’s grateful when they tell him he has to change into a smock, grateful for something to keep his hands busy. But he’s still distracted when they lead him into the special nursery proper, unable to focus as he crosses the length of the room. It’s not the first time he’s been in here in the last few days, but it’s the first time he’s ever been in here alone, and there’s too much assaulting his senses for him to make sense of it. He feels untethered and adrift apart from Regina, desperate for an anchor to keep him calm and centered. He can feel it in the way his heart beats a little faster, can hear it in the way his breathing turns shallow, can see it in the way his hands start to shake. It’s too much, he thinks as he settles into a rocking chair, too much to process and deal with and he cannot focus on the words they’re saying as they turn away from him and --

And then his daughter is against his chest and in his arms, and love strikes Robin like lightning.

He’s never had the chance to hold her before.

He laughs, he cannot help it, but he honest to god laughs at the realization when he remembers that the person in his arms is the one who created a thunderstorm to set the stage for her debut. She is lightning and love and the eye of every storm, centered and anchored and calm. Robin’s heartbeat slows down, his breathing much more even, and even without the manifestation of his daughter’s magic, Robin recognizes the feeling she exudes and provokes: _warmth_.

She is _alive_.

“Hello,” he chokes out, barely noticing the way that tears sting at his eyes. The baby coos ever so softly against him, fingers curling reflexively, and somewhere in him, Robin wonders if perhaps she recognizes his voice. “Miss me, did you?” Another affectionate sound, this one a little louder, and Robin cannot help but smile as he presses a kiss atop her knit cap.

“Misses her mother too, I imagine,” the nurse next to them muses.

Robin takes a breath to steady himself, waiting for ache to creep in around the edges again, but it barely comes, muted around the edges and distant from his heart. He feels better than he has in _days_ , and it takes him a moment to realize that his daughter is the reason why.

Her magic is working.

Robin pulls his head back a little and smiles down at her, marveling at the magnitude of the manifestation of her magic, given the circumstances. She wasn’t ready to come into this world just yet -- heart beating out of time and lungs hardly able to draw breath on their own. She’s thin and cold and so much smaller than Roland had been at birth. But her magic is the same as it’s always been, increasingly powerful and calling upon instinct, and for the first time, Robin finds himself able to feel the magnitude of it at full blast.

She’s _fighting_.

“You are nothing if not your mother’s daughter, you know that?” he murmurs, cradling her close. “She’s struggling, sweetheart, but she’s fighting, just like you. Your uncle’s making sure of that.” Another soft coo accompanied by a yawn, and Robin bites back a grin. “I won’t tell your mother he’s your favorite,” he promises.

He loses time as he sits there and rocks back and forth in the chair, his daughter cradled close against him, but he finds he doesn’t mind as much as he did before. He’s useful here, at least, and he finds himself suddenly grateful that Killian had suggested the trade off for awhile. The reprieve from Robin’s vigil at Regina’s bedside is surprisingly invigorating, like he’s replenishing reserves. He thinks it may be cheating a bit, since he’s certain his daughter’s magic plays a role in that, but he’s grateful for it all the same. An hour here, he thinks, may be enough to give him the emotional fortitude to take up camp by Regina’s side again for another few days.

Or however much time they have left.

The nurse does take his daughter from him, briefly, to check her vitals and run a test or two, and it’s in the brief lull he’s afforded that Robin finally orients himself to his surroundings. There’s a small table next to the rocking chair, littered with a variety of objects -- including, Robin thinks, a few of Killian’s possessions. Among them, he finds a worn and slightly tattered book, and he finds himself reaching for it without thought, mouth twitching into a half-smile at the thought of his youngest son.

It’s a book of baby names, he realizes quickly, and he feels a mixture of both shame and understanding at the thought that his daughter is still -- for the moment -- nameless. They’ve taken to calling her Baby Girl Locksley, the nurses, but that’s a proper name for no one, honestly. She needs a name, needs something beholden, but in the midst of all of the pain and chaos, Robin has been unable to devote any time to it. He and Regina hadn’t been able to settle on a name before Blue had happened, and even if Robin had been able to spare a thought for it since the baby’s birth, it doesn’t feel right to do this without Regina.

But there’s no harm in coming up with ideas, he supposes, which is clearly what Killian’s been doing while he’s taken up residence in here. Killian’s spent more time with Robin’s daughter than Robin has -- since her birth, anyway -- and so Robin would hope that Killian’s selections are a least a little more informed. There are a few names bookmarked throughout, pages dog-eared and selections indicated with small, colorful, sticky arrows made of paper. _Abigail_ is the first, equated with joy. _Elizabeth_ is also saved, but there’s writing on the arrow in Killian’s untidy scrawl -- _for Emma_ \-- that makes Robin pass over it. He flips past the next few arrows, none of the names particularly speaking to him -- _Helena, Josephine, Kiara_ \-- before he finds a larger sticky note stuck somewhere in the middle of the Ls, marked up with Henry’s neat handwriting. _Something with an R?_ is at the top of the list, followed by _Victoria -- for Mom_. Robin’s lips twist into a reluctant smile at Henry’s suggestion of _Hurricane_ , because while it’s a bit on the nose and perhaps actually entirely appropriate, Regina would absolutely never allow it, and as a name, Robin supposes, it is a bit unkind.

At the bottom of the list is a name that’s circled multiple times for emphasis, one that’s clearly been taken under serious consideration by either Henry or Killian or both: _Liara_. And underneath, in Killian’s handwriting, is what Robin thinks the name must mean -- _light for me_.

It takes everything in him not to latch onto the name immediately in spite of how lyrical it feels on his tongue when paired with Locksley, but there’s no harm in taking it into consideration, he thinks. He can offer it up as a suggestion to Regina, once she’s been given the antidote and is out of the woods, once this whole mess is over and done with. The name can do exactly what it’s meant to do: it can give Robin hope, and it can give their daughter a place in the world.

It can be what she has always been.

His fingers itch with longing as he sets the book back down, but the sensation doesn’t last long, fading away when the nurse settles his daughter back into his embrace. “Don’t worry, little love,” he murmurs, holding her close. “I’ll put in a good word for you with your mother.”


End file.
